


the way he deserves

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Banter, Brotherly Bonding, Established Relationship, First Dates, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 02:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: masaki and saigo finally go on a date together and hiroto only ever wants what's best for the brother he still has.





	the way he deserves

**Author's Note:**

> stands as a sequel to [distractions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649860).

“What are you doing?” Hiroto asks, slotting his body in the bathroom doorway, leaning against it heavily enough to suggest the half dozen hours of sleep he caught after their job was not nearly enough for him. “Are you… Are you trying to do your hair?”

“No.” Masaki runs his fingers through his hair, taming it back into place. “What do you want?”

Hiroto squints at him like he doesn’t quite believe that. “I heard you fucking around in here and got up to see what you were doing. What  _ are _ you doing? You’re dressed.”

Their latest job had them up earlier than either of them wanted to be, and while Hiroto might have slept the rest of the afternoon away and deep into the evening, Masaki dragged himself out of bed when his phone alarm went off to shower and put on suitable clothing. Well, as suitable as he happens to own and enjoy wearing. He keeps stressing to himself that he should be comfortable if he’s going to do something like this, that letting himself try to pretend he’s something he’s not is only going to make things harder in the long run.

“I’m going on a date,” he finally says.

“Oh.” Hiroto blinks at him a few times, a comical sight, before his face settles into a scowl. “With who? Who are you going on a date with? I want their name and address right now.”

“You’re not the older brother. You don’t get to be the pushy protective one.” Masaki brushes past Hiroto on his way out of the bathroom, flicking off the light as he goes.

Hiroto follows him down the hallway to the living room, his scowl intensifying when Masaki puts on a pair of nicer shoes than his typical motorcycle boots. Masaki wonders, distantly, if Smokey has ever seen this expression on Hiroto’s face and how he could possibly find Hiroto attractive when he looks like this over something so small. Before he can ask, Hiroto stalks across the living room to the door, leaning his back against it, petulant as always.

“Tell me who it is before you go,” he says, lifting his chin in a clear challenge.

Masaki sighs. “I don’t owe you any information, actually, so give me a reason why I should.”

“If something happens to you, I need a name to give to the cops. Or a description, or a picture. Anything.” Hiroto doesn’t budge when Masaki comes to stand in front of him. “I mean it.”

“I’m going out with a cop,” he deadpans. “So you can relax just this once.”

It’s a mistake, Hiroto stepping right into his personal space, dark eyes boring into his own. “A cop?  _ You? _ Since when do you go out with feds? And where did you even meet a cop? Please tell me you didn’t get arrested when you were out one night and tried to talk your way out of it with a date because I wouldn’t put it past you, but—”

Masaki claps a hand over Hiroto’s mouth hard enough that he knocks Hiroto back into the door in the process. “I’m going out with Saigo. Does that answer your questions?”

“I have more now,” Hiroto says the instant Masaki mistakenly removes his hand.

“We ran into each other at a bar and we started talking and things kind of went from there, I guess. He gave me his number and we only just now got around to setting up a date.” Talking about it out loud is strange but Masaki feels like this makes it feel almost more realistic than it did when he dragged himself out of bed. “I just, I like him, okay?”

Hiroto nods along with him and then takes a deep breath, stepping forward and carefully setting his hands on Masaki’s shoulders. The gesture shocks Masaki to his core; Hiroto has never been particularly affectionate and there was a colder edge to him after Takeru died like the thought of letting people in too close might only hurt more in the long-run. But now, Hiroto smiles softly at him and Masaki feels almost uncomfortable. Only almost, though; seeing his brother smile like this means the world to him, and he deeply values it.

“Have fun, then.” Hiroto squeezes his shoulders and Masaki chokes just a little. “He seems like a good enough man. I just don’t want anything to happen to you after aniki…”

“I understand. I will. Have fun, that is.” Masaki thinks going for a hug would be too much right now so he pats Hiroto awkwardly on the arm instead.

So Hiroto surprises him when he leans in, his chin resting on Masaki’s shoulder while he winds his arms tight around him. “I don’t know what’s going on with you lately,” he says, and Masaki tries not to stiffen at those words, “but I just want you to be happy. So he better treat you right because you deserve that. Have fun, and I mean that.”

Masaki swallows hard enough that his throat clicks, squeezing Hiroto back. “Yeah. I will.”

They won’t be able to dance around the conversation about what, exactly, is wrong with him for much longer; Hiroto will get it out of him one way or another, and it might be for the best that he does. Masaki would like to say he’s making strides toward turning his negative thinking around— and that’s ridiculous, really, it’s only been a few weeks— but between work on both of their parts, he and Saigo have only been able to talk on the phone. And those conversations have made him step back and take a look at himself because Saigo seems to know just when his mind starts to wander toward negative paths. Must be because he’s a detective.

As many times as Masaki has thought Hiroto deserves better, deserves  _ Takeru _ and not him, he’s forced himself to pay attention to how Hiroto comes to him for advice even though Masaki has so little to offer him. How Hiroto relies on him and isn’t afraid to seek him out when he needs to talk, something less rare than it used to be. Maybe he’s okay at this, after all.

He doesn’t want to think about it too much right now, but Hiroto throws him a little wave from the front door when he rides out of the driveway, his leather coat thrown on top of his date clothes.

The restaurant is a decent drive from the house the two of them share, far enough away that Masaki notices the moment when the city changes around him. He would know the richer part of the city without having to pay too much attention, and the restaurant is settled near the heart of it, the thought making him just a little uneasy. This is a  _ serious _ date, and he knows that, but he would really like to pretend it was just a quick meeting by chance in some anonymous diner where he doesn’t have to pay attention to himself and his surroundings so much.

He parks the bike beside Saigo’s car and walks himself inside, making a beeline for the bar because he knows places like this well enough. He knows Saigo’s profile when he sees it and walks up to him, shrugging out of his jacket and folding it over his arm. The jacket is a mainstay and keeps him from catching cold in the whipping wind when he rides his bike but under it is a gray sweater, the sleeves pushed up to the crooks of his elbows, and a pair of black pants, nicer than he’s ever worn around Saigo before.

It’s by no means the most expensive or the nicest clothes he owns, but he has to leave  _ something _ in the wings right? And he feels comfortable in this.

He wants to surprise him by Saigo sees him coming and his face does something that makes Masaki’s gut clench, eyebrows winging up even as his mouth opens just a little. This far away, Masaki can’t tell if it’s a gasp or not, but he’s an asshole and he wants to imagine it is.

“There you are.” Saigo stands when Masaki walks up to him, hands moving to rest on his hips and Masaki thinks it’s intimate, but it doesn’t make him want to shy away. “Don’t you look so handsome? I don’t think I’ve ever seen this side of you.”

“What side is that?” Masaki can’t resist, his voice adopting just the edge of a teasing lilt.

Behind the bar, the bartender— a young woman with her hair drawn back in a severe ponytail— raises her eyebrows at them, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Masaki wonders if the two of them have been talking about him.

Saigo squeezes his hip. “The side you clearly don’t want everyone else to see.”

The words have Masaki’s cheeks warming and he brushes it off with a laugh, shaking his head, hand twitching with the urge to run through his hair though Saigo is too close for him to quite pull that off. “Whatever that means,” he says. “You ready to go sit down?”

“Of course.” Saigo picks up his own jacket, then offers Masaki his arm. “Shall we?”

Masaki rolls his eyes at the display. “Such a gentleman,” he mutters, accepting the gesture.

“Have a lovely evening,” the bartender says in a voice that tells Masaki she knows too much.

The restaurant is a swanky place that Masaki would never have picked on his own but no one so much as looks twice at them, which maybe says more than anything else does. They have a booth because of course they do, at a window that overlooks the street outside. The sky is darkening slowly toward evening, a mess of oranges and blues, purple creeping on the horizon. The cars here are nice, the people dressed in fine clothing. Masaki feels like he sticks out, and he sticks out badly, at that.

Saigo’s eyes are soft as he meets Masaki’s gaze, his lips twitching up at the corners. “It’s been a long time since we’ve gotten to see each other face to face,” he muses, and Masaki nods automatically. “How have you been? You look better than I last saw you.”

“To be fair, I was going to drink myself into a coma that night. Not hard to look better than that,” Masaki says, folding his arms on top of the table.

“That’s not necessarily what I meant.” Saigo stretches a hand across the table to touch his arm and Masaki savors the contact. “You look like you’ve slept, your eyes are brighter. How are things with Hiroto going? You mentioned during the last call that things were better.”

“I’ve stopped beating myself up so much where Hiroto is concerned. He, ah, hugged me on my way out tonight. He wanted your information so he could turn you into the police if I didn’t come home.” The thought makes Masaki smile. “We’re… Good. We really are good.”

Saigo’s fingers circle his wrist and squeeze. “I’m glad to hear that. While we’re here, order whatever you want. I make decent money and spoiling you is high on my list of objectives.”

Masaki scoffs at him. “I make pretty decent money myself, you know.”

“I have no doubt you do, but I want to do this for you.” Saigo’s smirk is in full-force and Masaki drags his teeth over his lower lip at the sight. “So go crazy if you want to, and I won’t judge you for it. In fact, I’m encouraging it, so do it. It’ll make me happy to see you eat well.”

There’s probably a joke somewhere in there to be made about that but Masaki keeps it to himself, scanning the menu brought to them idly before picking out something that sounds like it might just put him to sleep. Saigo smiles warmly at him, though, so it’s well worth it.

Dinner is hardly as stressful or taxing as Masaki expects it to be, though; he finds himself paying less attention to the people around them and focuses on the man across from him instead. A few curious questions lead to Saigo regaling him with a tale of a recent bust, Masaki listening intently as he forks bits of steak into his mouth, trying not to moan at how it just seems to fall apart on his tongue. It’s unusual to have food that’s been cooked so perfectly and so carefully but Masaki thoroughly enjoys every bite— and he thinks Saigo can tell, too.

“It’s fun to watch you enjoy your food,” Saigo tells him, a fork of rice halfway to his mouth. “You should see your face when you take a particularly good bite.”

Masaki flushes, swallowing down a mouthful of vegetables. “Don’t say things like that. It’s just… The food is good, that’s all. I don’t normally come to restaurants like this.”

“Oh? I’ll have to bring you to more, then. Since you appreciate the cuisine so much.” Saigo grins when Masaki stammers, his face burning at the implications. “Or maybe I’ll have to cook something for you so I can keep all of your reactions all to myself.”

“You’re the worst,” Masaki mutters even as he stabs his fork into his steak.

Saigo’s hand settles on top of his and he glances up at him, swallowing hard when he realizes Saigo’s warm brown eyes have darkened to an earthen tone closer to black. “Maybe you’re the kind of man who can bring out the worst in me.”

The words have Masaki pressing his thighs together beneath the table.

True to his word, Saigo pays the bill, ignoring Masaki’s reminder that he can pay for his own food. There’s something nice about walking out of the restaurant tucked up against Saigo’s side, Saigo’s arm wrapped around his shoulders keeping him securely in place. Something  _ warm _ about it, the way Masaki can lean his cheek against Saigo’s shoulder, feeling heated to the core and maybe a little overly full from the food. It was  _ good, _ though, well worth it.

The bartender waves at them as they walk toward the doors. “Thank you for coming!”

“You told her about me,” Masaki says accusingly.

Saigo chuckles, thumb brushing over Masaki’s shoulder in slow and soothing movements. “Maybe I did. Who would want to keep someone like you a secret?”

“I can think of a few people.” Masaki says it teasingly enough but Saigo stops and looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “It was just a joke! I know I’m a pretty great catch.”

“I hope you do know that.” Saigo pulls Masaki tighter up against his side. “Let me walk you to your bike. Ah, I see you’ve parked it right beside my car.”

Masaki smirks. “What better place to park my best gal than right by a cop’s car?”

“Flawless logic.” Saigo hesitates, fingers pressed into Masaki’s arm. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Hmm, I  _ suppose _ I don’t mind.” Masaki smirks up at him, slipping out from under his arm, leaning his back against the side of Saigo’s car, the cool metal sinking through his sweater just slightly. His skin is so hot it almost doesn’t matter. “It was against my bike last time, so this time it can be against your car.”

Saigo stares at him for a moment so long that Masaki almost feels uncomfortable and then Saigo is right in front of him, moving so quickly that Masaki almost doesn’t notice. It makes him think of how Saigo had been right there to save Hiroto, moving so quickly that for one breathless moment— But no. Hiroto is fine and Masaki finds himself sandwiched between an expensive car and a handsome man, his breath sufficiently knocked from his lungs.

“You really do bring out the worst in me,” Saigo tells him, fingers gripping Masaki by the chin, tilting his head back. “I don’t think I mind it so much, though.”

Masaki chuckles, fisting a hand in the front of his shirt. “Gotta take a break from being a straight-laced cop all the time, right? Do something a little bad from time to time—”

“This  _ isn’t _ bad at all.” Saigo leans close enough that every word he speaks brushes against Masaki’s lips; he can almost  _ taste _ them. “This is the best thing I’ve done in years.”

He kisses Masaki and it’s not like their first kiss; there’s an edge to this one, Saigo’s fingers pressing into his skin, his other hand slipping just under the bottom of Masaki’s sweater to brush the bare skin just over the waistband of his pants. There’s an edge of teeth in this, dragging over Masaki’s lower lip until it feels tender and sensitive to touch, their tongues twining messily as Saigo presses him back into the car. It should hurt but Masaki feels so relaxed in this man’s arms that he hardly feels it at all, an anchor against the delicious pull of the kiss.

“Get home safely,” Saigo tells him, kissing him chastely, a shocking contrast to the first. “You can tell your brother about this. I hope I lived up to his standards.”

Masaki laughs, the sound coming out breathy. “I’m sure he’ll scream if I tell him about  _ this. _ ”

“Good.” Another kiss, soft and longing. “Get home before it’s too late and get some sleep.”

He doesn’t want to go, but Masaki dons his jacket once more for the ride home, glancing over his shoulder just once as Saigo’s car backs out of the parking lot and heads in the other direction. His mouth is still tingling faintly, his lower lip still swollen, when he walks through the front door of his house; Hiroto twists around on the couch and demands details immediately, shutting the TV off to give Masaki his undivided attention.

He doesn’t scream when Masaki mentions the kissing, but he  _ does _ scowl all over again.


End file.
